Missed Connections (an All Roads Lead to Bart's Story)
by englandwouldfalljohn
Summary: Mycroft attempts to help Sherlock with his love life by signing him up for an online dating site. He receives a message from a man named John, who's being pushed into this by his therapist, who believes he may not be straight. Meanwhile, everyone in Sherlock's life seems to be fascinated by a frequent poster to "Missed Connections," who seems to be describing our favorite detective
1. January 16: A Missed Connection

Jan 16 **Lawn outside St. Bart's –** m4m

You were tall, dark hair, wearing a heavy wool coat. Texting and drinking something warm from a small white paper cup. I was sitting on a bench nearby, with a cane (war injury). You stopped, looked around, and asked me the time. Before I could tell you, you said "nevermind" and bolted off toward the main road. Was it coffee, or tea? Milk, or sugar? I'd love to buy your next cup…

* * *

"Sherlock, this sounds like you," Molly giggled, reading the online message aloud. "And you were out there with a coffee yesterday. Any idea who this guy was?"

"Haven't the faintest, nor can I imagine why I would care," came the distracted reply from behind the microscope.

"I dunno, might be nice to meet someone who took the time to notice you. If someone had posted something like this for me, I'd be tempted to reply."

Sherlock drew his nose up in disgust, but didn't say another word.

"Oh well. I suppose that's why it's call Missed Connections."


	2. January 18: Internet Dating

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked sharply, removing his scarf in the most angry way he could manage.

"You know why, Brother Mine," Mycroft drawled, turning slowly from the window. "That promise you made Mummy at Christmas? I've been sent here to," he smacked his lips, enjoying the aggravation mounting on his brother's features, "enforce it."

"Really, Mycroft. Video surveillance isn't enough anymore? Now you're policing my… well…"

"Dating life, dear brother. In a word: yes. I understand that this is not exactly your area, so I've taken the liberty of creating an online profile for you…"

"Internet dating! You must be joking."

"I assure you, this is no joke. You'll find the correct page open on your laptop. The password is 'sociopath' – thought you'd appreciate that. Now I really must be going…" his voice carried up the stairwell he'd already begun descending.

"Internet dating," Sherlock grumbled to himself, flopping down on the sofa and turning his back to the room. "Preposterous."

Several minutes passed, in which he was most certainly not considering the potential merits of Mycroft's idea, when he sat up suddenly and snatched his computer off the desk. _I suppose it would be an interesting way to entertain myself… the deductions, of course, not the… other bit._

* * *

Jan 18: **Inbox (1)**

Hey there. I read your profile and you seem interesting. Not like the other people on here, or the ones I usually meet out. I mean, I usually meet women out… ok, well I guess I've only met women out before, but… I hope that's not important? Anyway. I'm also living in London at the moment, though I'm looking for a new flat, probably with a roommate. I'm looking for work in the city now – I'm a doctor, just back from the army – but in the mean time, an army pension can only stretch so far. To be honest, I'm not really sure how this is supposed to work so… tell me something about yourself? Something not in your profile?

John


	3. January 19: Response

Jan 19: **Sent Messages**

I don't see why it would be important that you've only had relationships with women, but then again, I've never been one for intimate relationships so I'm quite sure I wouldn't know. I've just moved into a new flat and am searching for a roommate. I doubt, however, that this is the most appropriate forum to find someone looking to make that sort of commitment. Something about myself… I have a severed human head in my refrigerator at the moment. Afghanistan or Iraq?

SH

* * *

Jan 19: **Inbox (1)**

Afghanistan. Captain. So you're looking for a commitment then? That's not to say I'm not, I suppose I'm just not quite sure. My therapist (discharge requirement) insisted that I try this online dating thing after I accidentally mentioned the one time I felt attracted to another man. Maybe there have been more times, and I just refused to acknowledge them. Or maybe she's hoping to find a reason to keep me coming to sessions, since nothing else interesting seems to happen to me. Not interesting enough for therapy, anyway. Severed human head? That's… different. Are you… what line of work are you in? Your profile is a bit vague on the subject. I have to admit, I'm a bit confused… you're interested in commitment, but you're not one for intimate relationships?

John


	4. January 24: Sherlock Gives In

"The acting manager of his dry cleaner did it. Honestly, why do I even answer your calls?"

"Hm. Oh, I'm sorry, what was that?" DI Lestrade asked without looking away from his mobile.

"You drag me all the way down here for a case that took 5 minutes to close, and you don't even care who the murderer was?"

"Yeah… dry cleaner, got it. Listen, Sherlock," Greg continued, "this post from a few days ago… he sounds like he's talking about you:

Jan 22 **On the Tube, Embankment** m4m

You were wearing a grey wig and some kind of stage makeup. You looked about 70 years old, but I know it was you again, the tall man from outside Bart's. You sat down across from me, but as I was about to say hello, you jumped back onto the platform while the doors were closing and ran up toward the street. It was a great costume, though I must admit, I prefer you the way you are."

By the time Lestrade had finished reading the post, Sherlock was grinding his teeth. It had been him, alright.

"D'you know who he is?" the DI asked expectantly.

"First Molly, now you. Why do you people insist on wasting my time with this… this…" he waved his hand in the air, uncharacteristically lost for words.

"Well something's sure hit a nerve, eh? I dunno, Sherlock, maybe you should consider writing ba- "

"Do not waste any more of my time, either with these asinine case-calls or with this missed connection nonsense." Turning on his heel, he strode out to the pavement and back toward Baker Street.

* * *

Jan 24: **Inbox (1)**

Sorry if I drove you off with my last message. Understand if you're not interested. Who would be, really. Hell, I'm not even gay. Technically. Besides, sounds like you might be asexual yourself – that's the term, yeah? Anyway, apologies for wasting your time. Best of luck to you.

John

* * *

Sherlock sighed. He didn't know whether it was the rain that had picked up on his walk home, or the fact that some man was noticing him all over London and he was oddly intrigued by it, but when he read the most recent message from John, he felt unusually guilty.

 _He is a combat veteran and a doctor… likely has some interesting stories, and may have skills that would be useful to The Work… didn't disappear or call police at mention of severed head… could at least tell Mummy I tried, get Piecroft off my back for awhile…_

* * *

Jan 24: **Sent Messages**

John,

I am sorry for not responding to your last message. It was rude, I admit. I was on a case. I'm a consulting detective – only one in the world – and when the so-called professionals I work with are out of their depths, they call me. To be honest, it is a bit tedious working with such an incompetent lot, and I've considered doing private work on the side. How has your search for work been going?

SH

* * *

His fingers twitched over the keys. The fact that he was even contemplating this was ludicrous, but before he could stop himself, he'd brought up the page. And there at the top was what he'd been searching for, posted just minutes earlier.

Jan 24 **Central London, Crime Scene** m4m

You were snapping at some frizzy haired, mean looking woman in a beige trenchcoat while ducking under crime scene tape. Suspect she deserved it. You weren't in a disguise this time. Your skin was red from the cold. To be honest, it suited you. I had a full cup of hot tea in one hand. Tried to catch up to you anyway, but lost you in the crowd. Wish that just once you weren't running away.

* * *

Jan 24: **Inbox (1)**

Found a job at a clinic. It's likely to be a bit dull, but there it is. My therapist tells me it'll be helpful in my adjustment back to civilian life, that the war haunts me. Sometimes I think she's wrong, and that it's the war I miss, and not life. Have you ever felt the urge to run down a back alley, pull out a weapon, and fire? I know that must sound extreme. I'm not a sociopath, I promise. I suppose I just have some more "adjusting" to do. By the way, are you ever going to tell me your name, SH?

John


	5. January 25: A Little Honesty

Jan 25: **Sent Messages**

The name's Sherlock Holmes. And yes, John, I have had precisely that urge. Do you still carry a weapon, now that you're back among the masses?

* * *

Jan 25: **Inbox (2)**

 **Unread Message 1:**

Sherlock. Unusual, but then again, so are severed heads in residential fridges. How about this – you tell me something personal, and I'll answer your question.

John

 **Unread Message 2:**

Oh, sod it. Yes, I still carry it.

* * *

Jan 25: **Sent Messages**

Sapiosexual, I suspect. It hasn't… mattered much. Only men seem to have potential for me, though.

* * *

Sherlock stared at the glow on his computer screen. He had sent it. Against all his better judgment, he had sent it. _Mycroft owes me for this._ He rolled over, pulling his dressing gown tight around his gaunt frame, and fought the urge to check the Missed Connections.

Six hours later, he woke to the thin light of pre-dawn. The frost on the window pane provided a sufficient weather report, which he intently ignored as he swung his coat onto his shoulders and headed out onto the London streets. Somewhere, out in this matrix of dirty snow and buried emotions, there would be someone selling cigarettes.


	6. January 27: Decision

The incoming text alert chimed on Sherlock's mobile.

Dearest Brother. - M

What do you want? - SH

Thought this might interest you. - M

Rolling his eyes, he clicked on the embedded link, which opened a new browser tab:

Jan 27 **Tall Bloke, Wool Coat?** m4m

It's been awhile. Haven't seen you. Logical in a city this size, I know, but it somehow feels like something's missing. You've never responded. Maybe you've never seen these. Whoever you are, you're obviously brilliant, and likely don't waste time with this nonsense.

Sherlock blinked hard in the glare of sunlight off snow. He had kept himself from checking this page for three days. Three days in which he constantly found himself distracted by his desire to check this page. _Why? Why this? Why now?_

 _It doesn't matter,_ he interrupted his own thoughts. As if he was determined to prove to himself that he wasn't interested in this mystery admirer, he deleted Mycroft's text and immediately opened the dating app.

* * *

Jan 27: **Inbox (1)**

Sapiosexual. I looked it up. Works for me, thought I don't know if I'll quite meet your standards. Do you think it's worth a try?

John

* * *

Jan 27: **Sent Messages**

John,

Could you meet for coffee day after next?

Sherlock

* * *

Jan 27: **Inbox (1)**

Sherlock,

Sounds good. I'm off from the clinic that day. Time and place?

John

P.S. – This would be my first date with a man, so please understand that I'll be a bit nervous.

* * *

 _Well this would be my first date ev-_

He didn't let himself finish the thought. _For better or worse, at least Mycroft will have to stop harassing me for awhile._

* * *

Jan 27: **Sent Messages**

St. Bart's Hospital, Lab 305. Say 3pm?

SH

* * *

Jan 27: **Inbox (1)**

See you then. – John


	7. January 29: Connection

Finally a case came in again. It was only a 4, but it was a distraction, which was what Sherlock was craving most. He had succumbed to his desire to check Missed Connections once an hour, and was feeling completely lost as to why he couldn't seem to stop. This new addiction wasn't simply unhealthy – it was embarrassing.

And yet, while he stared unseeing into a microscope in lab 305, the minutes ticking closer to 3:00, an impulse seized him. Before he fully realized what he was doing, his thumb was scrolling rapidly through several days of posts. There. The farewell post (as he had taken to calling it in his mind, though he wouldn't admit as much even to himself). His finger shook over the buttons on his phone. He hit the link: replytopost-16729403.

Automatically, a new "compose email" window opened, populated with the address which would route his message through the website.

* * *

Jan 29 | **2:51pm**

I did see them. –SH

* * *

He felt a cold wave wash over him. He, Sherlock Holmes, had just responded to a days old anonymous post that he could not even be 100 percent sure was intended for him. What am I even think –

His email alert chimed.

Jan 29 | **2:52pm**

Meet me? – JW

Jan 29 | **2:53pm**

Maybe. When? – SH

Jan 29 | **2:55pm**

Now. – JW

Of all the bloody days in my life to finally…

Jan 29 | **2:56pm**

Can't now. Have a date. – SH

Jan 29 | **2:57pm**

Tell him you can't go. Tell him you're meeting the love of your life. Tell him anything. Meet me now. – JW

* * *

Sherlock could hear footsteps in the hall. He couldn't fathom how he had gotten into this situation, but it was clear there was only one way out.

Jan 29 | **2:58pm**

Angelo's Restaurant, across from Northumberland St. Thirty minutes? – SH

Jan 29 | **2:59pm**

OK. - JW

* * *

A man entered the lab just then, wearing an anxious smile and blue button down shirt that accentuated his indigo eyes. The moment he saw Sherlock he froze in place as if struck by lightning.

"You… you're…"

"Sherlock Holmes, yes. And I assume you're John. Listen, my sincerest apologies, but something has come up," he rambled as he pulled on his coat and scarf, "and I'll have to cancel. I am sorry for making you come all this way."

"No, that's… it's quite alright."

"Excellent. Well then, if you'll pardon me, I'll just be off," Sherlock concluded, sweeping into the hallway. After a brief pause, he heard John rapidly approaching, reaching him just before the lift doors closed and pushing his way in.

"Mind if I split a cab?"

"I… suppose not."

"Great then," and with that, John fell silent, a surprisingly cheerful look on his face.

* * *

Sherlock slid into the backseat first, and as John followed, slamming the door against the wind, the driver asked for a destination.

"Angelo's, across from Northumberland," the detective answered self-consciously.

"And you?" The cabbie asked, eyeing John in the rear-view.

"Hm? Same," he said, not looking up from his mobile.

Sherlock gave him a suspicious sideways glance, but was distracted by the email alert on his mobile.

* * *

Jan 29 | **3:07pm**

By the way, JW = John Watson.

* * *

Sherlock's mouth fell slightly open. "John," he addressed the man now gazing out the window with an amused smile on his face, "you told your therapist there was one particular man you had found yourself attracted to. Who was it?"

"You're the detective," John Watson teased, grinning broadly at his date, "you figure it out."


End file.
